You Probably Think This Murder's About You
by TotallyLosingIt
Summary: When yet another serial killer is set loose on the streets of Santa Barbara, he teams up with Shawn's worst nightmare to bring the pseudo psychic down: the notorious Mr. Yin
1. Chapter 1

**I know I should be updating Follow the Targets, but this was a little too good to resist. Anyways, the T rating should probably be a little higher, because I'm digging into sensitive material (nothing sexual, thank God). **

**Anyways, I'll stop my rambling. Enjoy!**

The Horseman, Death, decided that if there was any time to start his game, if there was any place, it might as well have been now, here, in this park, at this time. He was an impulsive soul. Death fell swiftly, as the saying went.

Santa Barbara was almost too small of a city to be worth his game. The Horseman tsked quietly to himself, peering through the leaves of the tree at his first victim. The Other protested slightly, but Death was in complete control. Nothing could stop his game now.

She was a pretty little thing, with light blonde hair that shone in the moonlight and a baseball cap on her head. By her outfit, a t-shirt and sweat pants complete with a jacket and tennis shoes, he could tell she was a runner, and that was perfectly fine by him. Nobody could outrun Death.

He was in the Santa Barbara Central Park, which was about as small as a school's playground and backyard. The Horseman snorted, taking in the irony of the statement. Once the tabloids got word of his game, they'd call him a coward, say he'd be too afraid to start it in a bigger town, where the better detectives and the better law enforcement was. But he wasn't being cowardly. Nothing scared Death.

No, instead, he was being smart. Tonight was decidedly his last night in this tiny little town and there was no time like the present to get going and leave.

But first he had to make this first, crucial part in the game, to get it started. Once it started, it never stopped, even if he wasn't there to see it.

The runner had stopped at the water fountain in the park, just as he knew she would. She bent over the metal sink, and that was when he made his move.

"Excuse me, miss?" he called out, stepping out of the bushes.

She whirled and backed up a few steps. Smart girl, he mused. She'd definitely had the instincts. Not that that was going to save her now.

"Yes?" she asked cautiously, suspiciously.

He gave her a friendly smile, a mellow smile to show her he meant her no harm. "Sorry, um, did you drop this?"

Her hand automatically went to her pocket, and he knew what would be missing—her phone, her lifeline, her contact to the world. In his experience, there was almost nothing in personal devices that humans treasured more than their phones.

She stepped forward, peering at the device in his hand—yes, it definitely was her phone. The look of relief on her face faded when she looked up to face him, and found herself staring at the overly large gun. The Horseman twisted it deftly in his hand, and then let it rest on her pretty little forehead.

"Sorry, Anna," he said, cooing a bit. "Silly little Anna. Don't you know you can't run from Death? Don't you know you can't hide from Death?"

Anna began to cry. The phone was still in the Horseman's hand, and he smiled a placating smile. "Don't worry, Anna, baby," he said softly in a sing song. "Don't worry, baby, it'll be all over soon."

With that he smashed the gun into her face, watching, almost in slow motion, as it went slack, her eyes going wide and then slipping closed in the same second. He saw her falling, how she crashed her head on the edge of the water fountain.

The Horseman relished in the power. _He was Death. Nothing could stop Death. Death was inevitable._

And today, it seemed as though Death had become of Anna Coones.

~.~.~.~

"I am never," Gus declared, "ever, _ever _doing that again, Shawn."

Shawn pouted a little bit. "Really? Never? 'Cause, you know, I have another trip scheduled on my calendar, and—"

"Nope," Gus cut him off. "Forget it, Shawn. Disneyland is for little kids and people with a sweet tooth, and I'm not wasting another two days of my life tramping around California Adventures looking for buried treasure you know wasn't there with you again!"

"What are you guys arguing about?" Juliet questioned as they walked into the department.

"Gus won't go to Disneyland with me!" Shawn whined. "Even though he knows he had fun on Splash Mountain and playing those Toy Story video games."

"The video games were fun," Gus admitted. "But falling from fifty feet, having your foot smashing into my back; no, Shawn, I don't particularly want to do that again.

Shawn opened his mouth to shoot off a quick reply, and then noticed the solemn atmosphere of the station. He frowned, eyeing Juliet, who was stacking files and typing on her computer so hard he was afraid she'd break it.

"Easy, Jules," he joked. "What'd that keyboard ever do to you?"

Juliet looked startled for a second, staring at the keyboard like she had no idea what she'd been doing. Then she turned and looked at Shawn with a quiet, tired look.

"We have a serial killer in Santa Barbara, Shawn," she said quietly. "He murdered a nineteen year old girl last night, while you guys were away."

Shawn's smile slipped a bit. He'd had considerably bad experiences with serial killers.

"Anything I can do?" he asked.

"Stay out of our way," Lassiter cut in, dropping a heavy looking file on Juliet's desk on the way to his.

Shawn easily sidestepped as the detective pushed past him to get to his desk. "Oh, c'mon, Lassie," he complained. "I've caught all the serial killers, save one, from Santa Barbara."

"Exactly," Lassie stated, eyeing him with an arched brow. "Let us cops do what we do best for a change, huh?"

The psychic frowned at him, a moment of genuine puzzlement on his face before he broke into a grin. "Oh, Lassifrass, don't tell me you're jealous!"

"When hell freezes over," Lassiter seethed.

Shawn nodded solemnly. "So as soon as I put ice in your pants."

"Come anywhere near my pants and I will shoot you, Spencer, don't think I won't."

"Jeez, Lassie," he returned, smirking, "I'm not really into that hinky stuff, but if that's your thing, you know—"

"Shawn," Henry called from across the room, saving Shawn from getting his nose broken by the detective. He waved his son over, along with Gus.

"What's up, Dad?" Shawn prompted, jumping on top of the desk. "Need help painting your garage again?"

"The Chief wants all available consultants on this Horseman case," he said, ignoring the earlier comment. "That means you and Gus need to go to the crime scene with Lassiter and Juliet."

"Just like that?" Shawn asked, shooting a look at Gus. "What, you got a date or something you want us out of the way of?"

Henry rubbed his forehead. "This is one of the most twisted cases I've seen, Shawn," he said, glaring at his son. "Please take it seriously. The Chief insists, and I agree, but you will have to do everything Lassiter says. I don't want to take any chances."

"Everything?" Shawn whined.

"He'll take us off the case," Gus added, scowling. "He just now said so."

"Karen'll overrule him," Henry offered. "I mean it, Shawn. I'm trusting you with this case, but at the first sign of trouble I'm pulling you out, and that's that."

Shawn waved him off. "Sure, Dad, we got this." He held his hands up together in a classic "gun" signal and looked around furtively. "The only consultants to ever catch a serial killer single-handedly!"

"Actually," Henry said slowly, "you won't be the only consultants on the case."

~.~.~.~

"I hate you."

Gus looked over at Shawn, who was slumped so low in the front seat that his head barely touched the window, arms crossed, and, Gus was almost positive, a full on pout on his lips. By definition, Shawn was sulking like a child doing a sit down fit.

"Me?" he demanded. "What did I do?"

"You did that thing where you think I'm being weird and screw up everything."

The other man rolled his eyes so hard they might've popped out of his head. "Shawn, it's not my fault the Chief requested we get help from the FBI, alright? It was your dad's idea, and to be honest, I'm not complaining."

"Gus, I have really bad experiences with FBI agents," Shawn said dryly. "In case you've forgotten."

"Trust me when I say I haven't."

_"Turn right in one-point-four miles."_

"Dude, turn that thing off," Shawn said, annoyed.

"Forget it, Shawn," Gus said shortly. "This Navi is helping us get to the crime scene, and every scene from there on out. If you don't like it, you can get your own car."

Shawn eyed the small screen on the dashboard. "Her voice is giving me the creeps," he whined.

"How can Sasha give you the creeps?" Gus retorted. "She's got a voice like an angel."

"Oh, come on, man!" Shawn sat up a little and stared at him. "You _named _it?"

Gus' eyes went wide for a second and then he got his flailing under control. "Uh—no. Don't be ridiculous, Shawn, her—its name came like that. In the _manual."_

"Oh, so I bet you and Salsa are going to go get married some where in the Caribbean," Shawn grumbled.

"It's Sasha," Gus corrected automatically, reaching up to stroke the Navi.

"That's just creepy, man," Shawn complained. "I'd say 'get a room', but I don't even want to think about what you two would do."

"Knock it off, Shawn."

"You first."

_"You have arrived at your destination."_

"Thank you, Sasha," Gus said pleasantly. Shawn rolled his eyes.

The small park was one of the many scattered around Santa Barbara, nothing special about any of them. Now that the sun was out and shining above, it looked oddly joyful and out of place. Still, an early fall breeze hinted at a winter to come, bringing with it the sudden chill of the morning air.

Lassiter and Juliet were already at the scene, along with various CSIs, a dead body, and two obvious, stick-out-like-sore-thumbs Feds. Shawn ducked under the yellow tape, his mouth open and ready to annoy.

"Hey, Lassifrass!" he yelled, waving. "Erick Estrada called—he wants his aviators back."

The Head Detective scowled.

"Careful, Mr. Glass Half Empty," Shawn tsked, "keep frowning and your face will stick like that."

"He always like this?" one of the FBI suits, a large Hispanic man with short, cropped black hair, asked wryly.

"You have no idea," Gus grumbled.

"Shawn Spencer, Psychic Extraordinaire," Shawn said, beaming as he took the Fed's hand and pumped it once. "This is my partner, Sir Kicks-a-Lot. Don't ask, he does this thing with his foot—"

Gus' toe slammed into his shin and Shawn grunted. "Yeah, that. Anyways, I see you're Feds—are you here to help with the case?"

The first Fed raised a brow at him, an easy sort of smile stretching across his face. He had broad shoulders and short, spiky dirty blonde hair, with bright blue sparkling eyes that looked Shawn and Gus up and down. "Yeah, I'm Special Agent Jacob Turnbow, and this is my trainee—"

"Partner," the female agent interrupted with a short glare. She had caramel skin, long, dark, curly hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and friendly, light brown eyes. "Maya Rodriguez, nice to meet you, Shawn. And, uh, you too, Sir Kicks-a-Lot."

"It's Gus," Gus corrected, rolling his eyes at his best friend.

"Now that introductions are over," Lassiter growled, redirecting their attention to the late Anna Coones. "Vic was nineteen, liked to go out for late jogs. TOD is about eleven thirty last night, nobody saw or heard a thing."

Anna Coones wasn't a pretty sight. Her blonde hair was now streaked with the color of scarlet, dark red blood matted to her baseball cap that was barely staying on her head. She'd been stabbed, by Shawn's count, at least twelve times, all in strategic places on her body, where she died the slowest death possible.

Her wrists had been tied to her feet, which were then tied to the bare branch of a maple tree by the road. Baby blue eyes, partially obscured by her blonde hair, stared past Gus' head into nothing, and a strip of duct tape had been wrapped several times around her head as a gag.

"She was upside down when some joggers found her," Lassiter said, his voice tight and sharp. "ME got the okay to take her down a while ago, but I wanted to see what she looked like."

Turnbow and Rodriguez immediately went to work, walking around the body and studying it intensively. Shawn raised a brow at them and then surveyed the scene himself, eyeing the gruesome, limp body hanging in the tree. There was almost no evidence on the body itself, but Anna Coones wasn't what caught his eye.

Etched into the tree trunk the image of a horse, almost imperceptible from the angle he was standing at, seeing as some of the blonde's long hair, which, he also noticed, had been pulled, almost gently, from its pony-tail, draped across the horse like a curtain.

On the horse was a rider, who looked more like a stick figure to him than an actual person. In the stick figure's hand was a long, striking scythe, like the kind a grim reaper would carry.

Shawn smirked. Showtime.

Without warning he reached out, clenching both fists together, and proceeded to mime stabbing himself in the stomach.

"Ow!" he yelped, and 'stabbed' himself again.

By now everyone had noticed his antics, Juliet watching intensively, Lassiter rolling his eyes, and Gus explaining to the two befuddled FBI agents what was happening.

Shawn screwed his eyes shut and reached out blindly. "Gus!" he yelled. "I need you!"

His friend hurried to his side and hissed, "What the hell, Shawn?"

"Just roll with it," he whispered back, and then crashed to his knees.

"The spirit of Anna Coones is here!" he moaned.

"Oh, for the love of all things holy," Lassiter muttered.

"She says it was a pony!" Shawn yelled, throwing his hands up. He paused, as if he were listening, and then corrected himself. "No, not a pony… a horse! Nooo, that's not right either…" Suddenly he clutched his head and wailed, "Ohhhh Underworld! River Styx! Blue fire hair! Hades! The world is ending! Book of Revealing!"

"Book of Revelations," Juliet corrected, at the same time Gus said, "Death?"

Shawn pointed at Gus and nodded furiously. "This killer; he calls himself Death, the Fourth Horseman."

It was silent for a second as he caught his breath. The two agents were looking both amused, amazed, and slightly freaked out.

"I apologize for the interruption," he said wryly as he walked up to them. "Sometimes my visions can hit me at anytime, in any place."

"He once had a vision in the middle of a movie theatre," Gus added. "That was a weird night."

"That poor popcorn."

Gus snorted. "That poor popcorn lady."

"So you really are psychic?" Maya jumped in, sounding curious.

Shawn placed a hand to his temple. "I am. It is both a gift and a curse I am forced to bear." He stared dramatically into the distance as he trailed off on the sentence, until Gus nudged him in the shoulder.

"Why are you talking like that, Shawn? We're not at a Renaissance fair."

His friend frowned at him. "Thanks a lot! Ruin my dramatic moment, why don't you!"

"Shawn, can we be serious, here?" Juliet said. "You're saying that the killer calls himself Death? Like the one in the Bible?"

"Book of Revelations," Gus explained unnecessarily. "In the Bible, there were four riders on horses who brought the apocalypse. Death was the last one, the fourth Horseman, who rode on the pale horse. No idea why he chose Death, though."

"I think I just found his calling card," Turnbow said grimly, pushing back a few strands of Coone's hair to get to the symbol in the tree. "Did the CSI's get this?"

"Probably," Lassiter replied. "Somebody take a picture, just in case."

Shawn already had the picture etched into his head, and for the first time in a long time his blood boiled in rage. She was a young, petite thing, and this killer thought he had the power to control life and death. The way he covered her eyes with her hair almost mocked the detectives with a gentleness you just didn't see in serial killers, let alone killers who held this much rage or sadistic pleasure, taking a woman—a _girl's_ life in such a way it was worse than criminal. It was animal.

Gus nudged him again in the shoulder, but this time his expression was one of concern. "You alright?" he murmured, quietly so no one could hear.

Shawn watched as Lassiter and Juliet moved to assist the agents in photographing the symbol in the tree.

"Yeah," he said finally, turning on his heel. "Let's get out of here. Jerk chicken?"

Gus snorted. "You know that's right."

~.~.~.~

_Noooooooo…_

He didn't want to be here. Death moved as swiftly as the wind, in and out within seconds. He shouldn't still be here.

Inwardly he glared. Having been repressed, he could only watch as the psychic turned on his heel with his friend. They were so close! Earlier he couldn't remember where he'd seen them before. Now, it seemed as if it were too good to be true.

This was the same man, Shawn Spencer, who put Mr. Yang away. It amazed him, the smugness that radiated off him. How could he be so completely arrogant? Mr. Yang was one of Death's idols, and she was now locked in a psychiatric hospital.

The look on the psychic's face, at least, was gratifying as he looked over young Anna Coones. The sheer hatred that seemed to flare in his very eyes… it pleased Death that he could cause such a strong emotion.

Turnbow and Rodriguez packed up their stuff, and Death glared. Why, if he weren't so tied up right now… with a snarl he pushed himself back to wait. As soon as night fell he'd be able to strike again. His game would continue.

Of course, now that the agents were here, now that the psychic was here… he may just have to stay in Santa Barbara. Even look up his newest idol, Mr. Yin. In fact…. Death began to smile as the plan formed into his head.

The game had been altered by this change in events. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sleep, dammit!_

Death took a deep breath. Anger was a powerful ally, but one that Death didn't need. He was patient, or at least, he was supposed to be. But the Other wasn't falling asleep like he'd planned; it was starting to get infuriating.

Emotions, however, were not a part of his personification. Death was a _job, _not a person. He only represented, as a human, what death was. The sheer terror that humans had for death… the reactions they had when facing it…. Anna Coones was only the beginning.

Death wished he wasn't still in Santa Barbara but there wasn't much he could do about it. The longer he stayed in one place the more likely it was that he'd be caught.

Of course, Death wasn't worried about being caught. But he did happen to like his new body—it got him places. He was trustworthy, with a face like his. Ha! It was almost disgusting, definitely amusing, and positively fascinating.

Yes, humans were fascinating creatures.

He wondered if the Other even knew he was there. It was doubtful. Every Other he'd hijacked never even had an inkling until he hopped to another. And he'd never been caught. How could he? He was Death, after all. You couldn't catch Death, unless, of course, you were talking about the plague.

At that exact moment, the Other fell asleep.

Silently Death exulted and slowly sat up, stretching his fingers out. Hands checked out; legs, check as well. Everything was in working order—not that he ever imagined they wouldn't be, but you never knew.

Alright, first order of business—Death traveled to the mall to pick up his tool. Humming quietly to himself, he fit in just like the rest of the humans. A man walked by and Death contemplated touching him, just one touch, and seeing if he'd just drop onto the white tiled floor, his heart stopped. Of course he would; Death could kill anyone with simply a touch. He could twist their heart and lungs with just the brush of skin to skin contact. And he could walk away while the man went into cardiac arrest right then and there, no proof except for the simple touch of a bystander.

The power was astonishing, but the fantasy only lasted briefly, and then the man was gone. Death let him go. His game was specific and careful. He'd spent years dreaming it up, writing it down, planning it out step by step by step. And when a wrench was thrown into the plan, he'd spent hours as he had in the captivity of the Other thinking of ways to fix it and get the plan back on track again.

In fact, through the hours the Other had taken over, he'd devised a simple solution to getting rid of the loathsome psychic, one that even altered the plan enough to make it pleasurable for Death. It was risky—of course it was. But Death was all about taking risks; twisting fates into weird and unnatural patterns. It was why he'd taken Anna Coones the way that he did.

Death stopped and turned on his heel, staring into the window. Through his handsome reflection he could see the tool he wanted set on a stand merely three feet away. What would happen if he simply reached through and took it? One word uttered, and he could curse anyone who got in his way with a life full of death and despair. He could do whatever he wanted to, and the only thing standing in the way was himself.

Instead he sighed. Appearances were everything. He needed to keep up appearances, if only for the Other's sake. Strolling around the side of the door, he grabbed the tool off the shelf and approached the counter.

The clerk, a pretty young thing with jet black, blue streaked hair and black lipstick, smiled at him, looking bored. "Can I help you, sir?"

Death nodded. "I'd like to buy this camera, please?"

~.~.~.~.

_Oh, no._

Juliet had to keep herself from panicking more. Every breath was a struggle; this literally hurt on her. Emotionally she felt like she was about to explode. Physically it was taking everything she had not to.

Of course, she hadn't _known _that what they had was a serial killer. For all she knew it was a one-time thing—maybe the bad guy felt so guilty about what he'd done, he decided never ever to do it again. Maybe he'd even make their lives easier and turn himself in.

But she doubted it.

The way Anna Coones had been murdered… hung upside down, drained of blood, blue eyes open and staring, and then, of course, the slowest death possible, with the most heightened pain. Whoever did this had plenty of time to reconsider. He didn't.

And that meant there was probably more to come.

Juliet tried to control her breathing as she drove the cruiser back to SBPD. Luckily there was no one in the car with her—she'd asked for a ride alone to gather her thoughts, although that was putting it lightly. Panic was starting to build in her chest, and she couldn't stop it.

The Yin fiasco… she thought she'd never get over it. Stuck in that clock tower was the most terrifying position she'd ever been in, and she never wanted to relive that moment again. Yin was only four months ago. Less than a year. Less than a year she'd almost died… she'd almost decided never to come back to the SBPD. If Shawn hadn't convinced her…

Juliet shuddered and tried to keep the tears at bay. The terror of the night coursed through her, reliving that long drop… Lassiter, grabbing her and hugging her and…

She clenched her teeth tightly. This case was _different. _This killer wasn't going after her, or Shawn. He probably didn't even know she existed. She was _safe._

_ She was safe._

If only she could believe that.

~.~.~.~.

"I don't like this, Shawn," Gus said, chewing his jerk chicken thoughtfully.

"Since when do you like any murder case?" Shawn retorted, scrunching up the plastic wrapper. "The last one you fainted at the body. I'm surprised you didn't have a seizure at this one."

"I did _not _faint, Shawn," Gus shot back. "I _passed out. _There's a difference. Scientific study shows that if a certain part of the brain is overstimulated with something that the person strongly dislikes—"

"Are we seriously having this conversation right now?" Shawn rolled his eyes.

Gus glared at him. "That's not what I meant, Shawn. I mean, the way that girl was killed…" He shuddered and screwed his eyes shut, like he was attempting to banish it from his mind.

Shawn eyed him warily. "You okay, dude? Bathroom is that way." He pointed off to the side, earning another glare from his friend.

"I'm not going to throw up, Shawn."

"Okay, well, if you want I've got a pillow in the Blueberry—"

"Or pass out! And don't call it a—wait, why do you have a pillow in my car?"

Shawn shrugged. "High speed chases are pretty tiring, you know."

"We don't have high speed chases, Shawn. And that's my company car! You can't have pillows in my company car. What if I had a client I needed to escort somewhere? They'd see a pillow and assume I sleep on the job. And besides, Shawn, you have never once fallen asleep in my car."

"Well…"

"Shawn!"

His best friend grinned. "Chill, man, I'm just messing with you. Seriously, though—what's about this case that makes it so special?"

Gus sighed. "Shawn, I don't expect you to understand because you're a generally happy person." An insulted look flittered upon Shawn's face, but Gus held up a placating hand. "Let me finish: this guy… what he did was _evil. _I'm not taking this lightly, Shawn. He thinks he's Death himself. He thinks he has the power to control who lives and who dies."

Shawn was quiet for a minute. "He did with Anna Coones," he said, his expression stormy.

Gus looked after his friend as he went to throw the wrapper away. Shawn only got like this when he was dealing with the Yin Yang killings. It was rare to see anyone else get him into a fire like this. Gus didn't have to be psychic or even hyper-observant to notice that the only thing Shawn found at the murder scene of Anna Coones was what Death had planted there.

When Shawn wasn't himself he terrified Gus. He'd only seen his friend purely angry a few times in their thirty years of friendship—it wasn't a pretty sight. Now, the expression on his face was both pure fury and sheer frustration. An odd combination when it came to his happy-go-lucky best friend.

Shawn came back with Maya Rodriguez. Gus did a double take as he stood from the table, eyeing the Probationary Agent up and down. He's seen her at the crime scene but had been a little distracted by the body of Anna Coones, and now that they were in a normal place and he wasn't focused on losing his breakfast, he could see she was actually very pretty. Smooth caramel skin, curves, bright brown, inquisitive eyes and cascading, sleek black ringlets of hair falling onto her shoulders made her look younger and more innocent than she had been when she was at the crime scene.

"Gus, you remember Maya, don't you?" Shawn said, and the smirk was firmly back in place. Gus glared at him.

"Yes, Shawn, I do happen to remember the FBI agent who we saw less than three hours ago at the worst crime scene I have ever seen, thank you."

"He's a little crabby," Shawn explained to Rodriguez. "When we have jerk chicken, a pineapple smoothie immediately follows and when he has to wait he spins into an Oscar frenzy."

Maya looked confused, so Gus decided to cut her some slack. "He means I get grouchy, from Sesame Street. And I don't, Shawn, I just need something that stimulates my taste buds to wash down that weird new sauce this place has."

"Whatever you say, buddy." Shawn leaned into Rodriguez and whispered something conspiringly into her ear, to which she raised a brow in Gus' direction and smirked.

Gus sighed and shook his head. "Word of advice," he offered to the agent. "Don't believe anything Shawn says about me or the Telly Tubbies."

"The red one's a girl!" Shawn answered immediately.

"You guys seem to have a thing for children's shows," Rodriguez said, looking between the two.

Shawn shrugged. "They stick when you've babysat for eight years _after _you grow out of them."

"You don't have any younger siblings, Shawn," Gus said, confused.

"I know, man. I was talking about _you."_

Gus glared at him again and slugged him in the arm, drawing a laugh from Maya. "And very entertaining," she added. "It's better than soap opera."

"I don't know," Shawn said thoughtfully, "General Hospital's starting to get good again."

"Shawn, you never watched General Hospital."

A guilty look flittered onto Shawn's face for a millisecond, but long enough for Gus to see. He groaned. "Oh, no. Tell me there wasn't a marathon on in the last three months."

"Four," Shawn defended himself. "It was four months ago, and yes, Gus, I did. Re-runs, man… Jerry went loco and kidnapped Sam and—"

Gus shook his head and turned to Maya. "So," he said in as sane of a voice he could manage, "Maya. What brings you here, of all places?"

She flashed him a grin. "Oh, I was following you guys."

"You can follow me whenever you want to," Gus said, switching into his 'sexy voice'.

Shawn looked at him, his face twisted. "Oh, man, don't _even _go there."

"What, Shawn? She isn't married—" At this he gave her a searching look. "You aren't married, are you?" She shook her head and he continued, grinning, "I can hit on whoever I want to."

"For the record," Shawn told Maya, "he flirted with his Garmin this morning. You know, the navigational tool to 'get to crime scenes'? Navi for short? Apparently her name is Sasha and they're on their fourth honeymoon—"

Gus' shoe promptly slammed into his shin, harder than it had at the crime scene, and Shawn gritted his teeth, reaching down to rub it. "Seriously, dude?" he complained. "You're going to shatter my fibula."

"It's tibia, Shawn."

"I've heard it both ways."

Rodriguez's head followed the conversation like a tennis match, an expression of amused befuddlement on her face. "Uh, guys," she cut in awkwardly. They looked at her with inquisitive looks. "Don't you want to know why I was following you?"

Shawn immediately put a hand to his head and guessed, "Wait a second, I'm getting something… it's about my ability!"

Maya gave him a silly grin. "So, what's this about pineapple smoothies?"

~.~.~.~.

Absolute, sheer fury.

Ben was _furious. _He couldn't stop shaking. How dare he? _How dare he? _Stupid! Stupid, _stupid psychic!_

He stalked across the street to his car. The sun shone brightly like some stereotypical chick flick, rays of warmth beaming down on his cheeks and arms. He wanted to punch it. Everything was just so _wrong _here! It wasn't fair! Why couldn't everything just happen the way he wanted to, just for once?

A camera was gripped tightly in his hand. On it were pictures, pictures of the _psychic, _Shawn Spencer, the asshole who ruined his life. All of his plans, gone in an instant—who the hell _was_ this guy? He didn't know where the camera had come from. It just appeared in his car this morning like… like somebody had planted it there.

Ben snorted. Was it this Death guy? The serial killer was all over the news this morning. Killing a teenager—Ben could've done so much better. And what the hell was a Horseman as a calling card? Pathetic, the whole goddamn lot of them.

He didn't know what to do with the pictures. What kind of message was this, anyways? "I'm onto you," or some kind of stupid crap like that. What was he supposed to do with pictures of a psychic he _hated?_

_ Well… _An inner voice prompted Ben to do something drastic, something not even Death would've seen coming. If this is meant to be some sort of warning… he'd warn him right back. And he knew exactly how to do it, too.

_Shawn Spencer is _mine. Nobody could do it like Ben.

~.~.~.~.

"This is amazingly good," Maya said, her brown eyes large as she sipped the smoothie through the straw. "We don't have pineapples in Virginia, let alone pineapple _smoothies."_

Santa Barbara Central Park was the only major park in the city. It had park benches, a swing set, a large field, a "Big Toy", as Shawn called it, and picnic benches. The three were currently at the benches as the sun glared through the breaks in the trees, dancing across the field in the slight breeze.

"It's a tradition here in Santa Barbara," Shawn answered, sounding almost modest. "You've never experienced California until you've tried a pineapple smoothie."

"That's not true," Gus informed her, rolling his eyes at Shawn.

"We have a file on you," she said, nodding in respect to the both of them. "It's got pretty much everything you've ever done in it."

"Well, that's a little creepy," Shawn commented, looking at Gus. "Does it have, like, all the bathroom breaks I've ever done in my lifetime? All the times Gus has watched National Treasure?"

"I've only seen it three times, Shawn."

"And you saw the sequel eight times."

"What's in this file?" Gus asked, ignoring Shawn because he didn't want to admit that he really had seen the sequel eight times.

Maya shrugged. "Every case you've ever done, your childhood history, stuff like that. It's impressive, actually, but that's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here, then?" Gus wanted to know.

She leaned forward across the table they sat at. "How does it work?" she asked intensively. "I mean, my mother was psychic. She had visions of the future—there was this one time when I was crossing a street and a drunk driver almost hit me, but she saved me right before it did. So… is your gift like my mom's? Or is it, like, different?"

Shawn cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, you see Maya, it's like the spirits take over my body. I have no control of what they do or how they do it. It's why Lassie-face lists my method as "unconventional"." Gus proved the air-quotes to go with the words, smirking.

"That's fascinating," Maya said, her eyes bright. Shawn nearly gagged; she was _really _into this stuff. "So, the vision you had at the crime scene, is that how it works, live?"

He shrugged. "There are different ways. Like I said, the spirits are about as spontaneous as Gus' toy train when he was eight."

"That train was _not _spontaneous, Shawn. You were the one steering it."

"Yes, and it spontaneously flipped out on me!" Shawn complained. "I nearly lost a finger. How would you have felt then, huh? Having a finger-less best friend!"

Gus rolled his eyes. "You'll have to excuse him," he said to Maya. "He's a child sometimes."

"All the time," Shawn corrected. He turned back to Maya, who had sipped up the rest of her smoothie. "So, Maya Rodriguez, tell us about yourself."

Her cheeks turned a rosy red. "Well," she said shyly, "I'm from this tiny little town in Virginia, so California's a change for me. I'm a Probationary Agent and partners with Jake—I mean, Agent Turnbow. Actually, I just joined the FBI a few months ago."

"What is it you consult on?" Shawn asked curiously.

"We profile serial killer behavior," she said, shrugging. "I have a Doctor's degree in psychology."

"That's impressive," Gus said, brows raised.

"Not really," Maya said, blushing even deeper. 'I mean, it's nothing."

"That's definitely not nothing," Shawn agreed. "So, what about your partner? Jake… Jake Turnbow." His fingers flew to his temple. "Oh… I'm getting… was he military?"

Maya looked at him, amazed. "Yeah, he was," she said. "He was in Afghanistan right before he transferred here. I mean, he was FBI for a long time before he went off to join the Army. No one knows why, but nobody's stopped to ask him about it since."

"So why'd he come back?" Shawn wanted to know. "Was he injured?"

Her expression turned sad. "He was shot in the arm," she said quietly. "It nearly shattered the bone." A thoughtful look flittered onto her face for a second. "How'd you know?"

Gus thought he knew. Shawn waved his hand towards his head in a his trademark "Psychic, duh," gesture, but Gus had seen the way Turnbow carried himself. Like a soldier, with the strictest of rules laid down in his life, and the way he was favoring his right arm at the crime scene as he bent down to look at Anna Coones.

Speaking of which… "So what's your take on the case?" Gus asked Maya.

Maya shrugged. "Like I said, I'm just a Probie, but if I had to take a guess, I'm thinking this guy isn''t even close to being done. He's pretty damn sure he can control who lives and who dies, which is a dangerous combination in a serial killer. He's confident, but not arrogant, and he wants to prove a point. He's not finished, and that's bad news for us unless we can tell how he picks his victims."

Gus stared at her. "You can tell all that from a crime scene?"

She did that adorable blushing thing again. "Sorry," she said.

"What in the world are you sorry for?" Gus was delighted. "That was amazing! That was better than what Shawn does!"

"I resent that," Shawn said, sulking.

Maya shook her head emphatically. "No, it was nothing."

Gus smiled at her. "It was _better _than nothing."

~.~.~.~.

_He couldn't move._

_ Gripping fear and frustration flowed through him as he peered up through his eyes, wide open and staring, and he couldn't move. His arms lay at his sides; they were strapped down at the wrists and elbows, and the same with his legs, knees and ankles, but the restraints were unnecessary. He could feel the drug pumping through him like a snake writhing its way through his veins. It made him feel sick to his stomach; like everything was spirally out of control and he was stuck in one postion, his limbs too heavy to lift or move._

_ He couldn't even move._

_ Pain was everywhere, as was the panic. Cold and hot alternated through him, making him shiver uncontrollably and sweat at random intervals. He tried to twitch one of his fingers, but to no avail. He tried to move his head, even turn it to the side to press his burning cheek against the cool, metal table he was lying on, but it felt as heavy as a boulder, like it was the world and his muscles were Atlas. _

_ A man loomed over him. He had dark skin, caramel, littered with scars and dirt and zits. His eyes were bloodshot; his teeth were rotten through and dark yellow, with black spots that he realized, with horror, weren't dots at all—they were _holes. _A beard, dark brown, black even, and thick as a bush, engulfed his mouth, giving him a ruggish appearance. He was dressed in desert clothing; this was of no surprise. _

_ The man who stood above him held a needle. It was full, unlike the last one, which had only been half-way filled with clear liquid. He felt another wave of panic sweep though him as the man lowered the needle with a hole-y grin, towards his arm, which he couldn't move._

_ He couldn't move. He couldn't talk, blink, breathe… the needle struck his arm with a painful pinch, and then the agony came._

~.~.~.~.

"And this is the Psych office," Gus said, sweeping his arm through the door to allow Maya's full peripheral vision to take in his pride and joy. She looked on in barely suppressed awe, while Shawn sulked in from behind her.

"Wow, this place is amazing," she gushed, staring at the bright green words on the window. They were backward, but this didn't seem to faze her a bit.

"Gus," Shawn said slowly.

"Not now, Shawn," Gus said out of the corner of his mouth. "Over here is our mini-kitchen…"

"You have a mini-kitchen?"

"Gus," Shawn said again. He was staring at one of the paintings on the wall.

Gus ignored him. "This is our desk, and… well, we _used _to have a secretary… never mind."

"What do you need a secretary for?" Maya wanted to know.

"Well—"

"Gus!" Shawn said, frustrated.

Gus turned to him, annoyed, mouth open and ready to retort, but something in Shawn's expression made him stop. He looked serious, and that scared Gus. Shawn was _never _serious.

"Something's wrong," he said, and he stared at the picture again. "That painting's upside down. So are all the other ones."

Gus followed his eyesight. Maya looked on, nervous, as slowly they both realized that Shawn was right—every picture and painting hung on the wall were all upside down."

"Okay, weird," Shawn muttered. He followed the paintings to the lounging room. "Really…"

He trailed off. Gus watched him through the window, worried, when he didn't say another thing. "Shawn?" he called, and now his voice sounded nervous.

"Gus, call the police." Shawn's voice was grim. "I am officially creeped out."

"Why?" Gus went through the door to see what was wrong. "What's the matter?"

Shawn pointed silently to the wall. Gus followed his finger, and his jaw dropped open.

On the wall were pictures. Pictures of Shawn.


	3. Chapter 3

**-whistles- -drops off chappie- -flees before you can throw tomatoes at me-**

_4 hours earlier_

Kelsey Aberdeen was going to die. She let out a muffled, terrified sob as the man stalked forward menacingly with the knife, leaning towards her with it gripped it his hand so hard that his knuckles were stark white. The setting sun reflected off the dagger and into Kelsey's eyes, blinding her for a moment and then he was against her, pushing her into the wall of the ally.

Across the street she could see her love, Shawn Spencer, as he used chopstick _expertly _to slip a piece of jerk chicken into his mouth delicately with those wonderful lips of his. If that were to be her last sight then it was a good one.

"Tell me," the man breathed in her ear. It would've sounded sexual if she hadn't been looking in his eyes. They were filled to the brink with fury and anger she couldn't even begin to comprehend, wild and hungry, sometimes looking back to glance at Shawn as he gestured with his _gorgeous _hands. Kelsey felt a flurry of anticipation and jealousy, because Shawn was _hers _and no one else's, and it looked like this man wanted him, too.

"Tell me where they are, and I'll let you live." His voice had taken on a persuasive, cavalier tone and Kelsey would've found it attractive if she'd never heard Shawn's husky, light-hearted voice in her life.

Kelsey shook her head emphatically, or as much as she could backed up against the wall with his hand pushed against her mouth. The hand tightened and the man's eyes turned from furious to cold and blank, all the emotion draining from his face. He leaned in close to her face and the knife left her peripheral vision as all she could do was stare into the dull blue eyes that were fixed on her with an intensity that she'd never seen before.

"One more chance, Kelsey Aberdeen," he said, and his voice was as soft as if he were speaking to a child. "Tell me where the pictures are, and I promise you can have Shawn to yourself. I'll even give you a place to keep him where you'll be together forever. I promise."

He sounded so sincere and looked so intense, like it was a personal promise to himself as well as her that she would get Shawn all to herself, if she just gave him the pictures. Kelsey softened a little bit as she thought of what a life with just Shawn would be like. They'd have three honeymoons in Hawaii, and drink pineapple smoothies all day long, and have six children, and—

"Do we have a deal?"

Kelsey smiled behind the hand and he gently pried it off so she could take a deep breath properly.

"You'll find them on this flash drive," she told him, digging into her pocket and producing a Lexar jump drive. "All of the pictures of Shawn are on there, and here's the camera that I was taking pictures with today. But, you mean it? Shawn and I can really be together forever?"

The man looked at her and smiled, leaning in so close that their foreheads touched. Kelsey thought that he was going to kiss her when his breath washed over her, the slightest hint of raspberry gum still in it as he breathed and stared into her eyes.

"No," he said simply, and then Kelsey felt the tip of the knife breaking through the skin in her side.

Death watched with the same fascination as Anna Coones as Kelsey's green eyes bulged and then screwed shut, her entire body going limp. He pulled out the knife and she fell to the ground in the ally, and as he stood there with the flash drive and the camera in his hand he could feel the rage overwhelm and consume him before he could stop it, and suddenly he was all over her.

After he was done slicing and stabbing and mutilating her beyond recognition he stood there, panting in the shadow of the ally as the people walked by without a clue of what he'd done to the poor girl. Remorse washed over him and he knelt by her, her blood soaking the knee of his blue jeans as he reached over to shut the pretty green eyes she had that were so much like the psychic's it was no wonder why she stalked him to no ends. Slowly and carefully he carved his sign into her forehead and stood, watching as the psychic met up with his best friend again, this time with the FBI agent Maya Rodriguez in tow.

He pocketed the flash drive and left.

~.~.~.~.

_Now_

"These are from today," Shawn said. His voice was calm but on the inside he was reeling. There had to have been at least two or three dozen pictures, some with the grainy quality of a cell phone camera, some set up like a sniper scope with perfect clarity, at angles and in places that were nearly impossible to get to.

One was of him and Gus as they walked from the park to the Blueberry. Another was a close up of him sipping a pineapple smoothie, with a snippet of Maya's hair obscuring his right cheek. From the Norton to the station to outside his apartment, the pictures got more and more personal, until he found one that chilled him to the bone.

It was inside his apartment, and he was _sleeping. _Sprawled out on the bed without undressing, over the covers on his bed he was laying on his back, head lolled to the side, turned towards the camera. A chill went through him—this guy had been in his _room; _he'd been _this close _to this psychotic killer.

Gus stood next to him, staring at the same picture, completely and totally rigid. He looked like he was going to be sick any second. Maya had phoned the police not thirty seconds ago, and now she leaned in close to the pictures, studying them like they were a dissected frog with its guts and organs laid out in nice little piles. Shawn winced at the thought and waved Maya over, pointing at the picture.

At first she recoiled, a shudder running her entire frame until she got the shock under control, and then she was studying it so intensely her eyes crossed a couple of times. After two hours of waiting impatiently, although it couldn't have been more than ten seconds, Maya said, "It's like a warning."

"No kidding," Shawn said sarcastically. "But, I mean—how'd they get this _close?"_

Maya shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea. Do you sense things even when you're asleep?"

Shawn translated that as, "Did your father teach you to be hyper-observant even when you're dreaming of CHiPs episodes from last night's marathon?" and the answer would've been a resounding _yes, _so he nodded, and then he frowned because he couldn't even remember when this was. "It's so weird," he mused. "I remember pretty much everything, and I don't remember a single time I was out without changing. Or waking up with all my clothes on, for that matter."

Gus sent him a concerned glance, which Shawn understood. He'd never admit it, but this was starting to get more than a little creepy. A serial killer-turned-stalker had been in his house while he was asleep and not only did he not hear him, but he didn't remember it, either? It was _freaky, _which is probably what this guy had in mind. Still, what exactly was the purpose of the pictures?

"Oh, man," Gus breathed. Shawn realized that he was clear on the other side of the room, at the very end of the wall, staring at another picture. His face was pale, which was weird for a black man like him in the first place, and his eyes were wide. He looked more freaked than Shawn had ever seen him. "Shawn, look at this."

Shawn walked over to him, trying to ignore the more personal pictures that passed by _(one with him and Gus playing Rock 'em Sock 'em in the Psych office, one with him brushing his teeth from the side, an old one with Abigail and him kissing, one of him inside the Blueberry as he and Gus were driving to the crime scene, Sasha the Garmin attached to the dashboard) _and peered at the last picture on the wall.

At first he didn't understand, and then, like a slap to the face, it hit him. He was _staring at himself. _The picture had been taken, _literally, _while he was facing it. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth was pursed, and he looked like he was concentrating really, really hard on something, but it was no doubt about it. He was staring straight at the camera. Why he didn't see it, he didn't know, but from the background it looked like he was in the Psych office, staring at the camera with an intense, concentrated look on his face.

Maya looked at him, concerned when he found himself unable to tear his eyes from the picture. "It's the ultimate invasion of your privacy," she commented, and then flushed when she realized how that must've sounded. "I mean, they're trying to get to you, Shawn."

_It's working, _Shawn thought, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Out loud he said, "I'm sensing this was taken from a webcam." He brought his fingers to him temple. "This must've been one of those times I was sitting at the laptop or something. But how did they take the picture? I mean, webcams are for _chatting, _not _pictures."_

"Actually, Shawn," Gus corrected, "Apple and all sorts of laptops nowadays have an accessory where you can take pictures with your webcam, even remotely."

Shawn scoffed at him. "Gus, don't be the only Worm Hole X-Treme fan at a Harry Potter convention. You can't just make things up from the future and place them in the past."

"Present," Gus said, smirking. "And I'm not. It's possible to remotely take a picture with a webcam. You of all people should know that."

"Guys," Maya sighed, rubbing her forehead.

Shawn smiled sheepishly at her. "Sorry," he said. "I get sidetracked. Wait, didn't I already tell you that?"

"It looks like you're being targeted or something," she interrupted, her voice thoughtful. "Bizarre. Some of these are from today but obviously whoever this in put a lot of time and effort in it. And a lot of these seem to capture your face, your eyes, your stomach… it seems almost sexually driven."

"Excuse me?" It was Gus who demanded this, much to Shawn's amusement.

Maya again realized she might've said too much and backtracked. "You know; they're stalking you. I mean, the pictures of today, those were taken from a different person. They were more focused on your surroundings, not just you, but these older ones… they're purely about _you, _and… well, how you… _look." _She gestured with her hand helplessly.

Shawn grinned at her. "It's okay, you can say it. They're admiring how hot I am."

Her brown eyes rolled. "I wouldn't have put it so bluntly, but yeah, pretty much."

He shrugged. "Okay, then I know who took the first few hundred pictures."

~.~.~.~.

"Damn," Lassiter sighed. Juliet said nothing as she knelt by the body of one Kelsey Anderson. The blonde was face-down in an ally, blonde hair spilled over her face and blood pooling from multiple stab and slice wounds. The call had come in less than ten minutes after she died when passerby noticed the river of bright red liquid dribbling onto the sidewalk.

Nobody had seen or heard a thing.

The coroner had already given the okay for them to move the body, but they were being held up because the Feds wanted dibs on first eval. Lassiter rolled his eyes. _Feds._

Anderson looked absolutely terrible. Almost worse than Anna Coones, which signaled a giant red flag in Lassiter's book. Second body meant serial, and a serial was the last thing they needed so soon after Yin.

In fact… Lassiter eyed his partner as she paced around the Crown Victoria, arms crossed. Her shoulders were tense and she looked like Mt. Everest threatening to erupt, which was never a good thing when it came to O'Harra… or any women, come to think of it.

He was getting worried about her. When she almost didn't come back after the Yin incident… well, Lassiter sure as hell didn't want to go through another partner transfer again. If Spencer hadn't gotten her out of her depression when he did, Lassiter probably would've tried. Failed, obviously, but tried anyways. It was the thought that counted.

Tires screeching, a jet black Denali pulled up to the curb and Jacob Turnbow jumped out, looking like a thirty-something surfer dude. Juliet stood immediately and smiled a real, appreciative smile that Lassiter didn't like the looks of at _all._

"What's this about a new body?" he demanded in his light, tenor voice. Lassiter rolled his eyes and pointed at the woman on the ground, but he was already kneeling and slapping white latex gloves onto his hands.

"Damn," he sighed after a moment.

"That's what I said."

"There're two killers."

Lassiter's head snapped up and he stared at the Fed as he stood slowly. Juliet looked as horrified as he was, the grip on her cell phone as she attempted to call Spencer tightening almost to the point where he was sure she'd break the poor thing.

"You're kidding, right?" Lassiter sputtered, finally getting his voice back. "How do you know?"

Turnbow gestured to the body. "Anne Coones was done methodically and carefully, while this girl…" he shrugged sadly as if he couldn't find the words to describe her properly. "It's like someone who has unlimited, bottled-up anger and took it all out on her."

"But what about the sign?" Juliet asked, speaking up finally after pulling the phone from her ear.

The Fed gently pushed back Kelsey Aberdeen's hair to get a look at her face: pale and drawn, with her eyelids drawn closed. A frown flittered on Lassiter's face when he got a look at the small bruises that had appeared on her eyelids, like fingers. Someone had closed her eyes, but why?

As with Anna Coones, Kelsey Anderson's face had been left untouched, except this time in the middle of her forehead there was the crude carving of a stick horse, with a stick person, holding a stick scythe raised high above their head. Turnbow sighed again.

"It looks like Death was here, too," he muttered. "Why would he do that? Claiming someone else's kill isn't his style."

"Are we sure that two different people are doing the killings?" Juliet asked.

Turnbow shrugged. "We won't know for sure until CSI comes back with evidence of two different people being here, but I'm pretty convinced. There's simply no way that it could be the same person. Or at least, the same consciousness."

"Yeah, Shawn?" Juliet interrupted, finally putting the phone to her ear again. "Sorry, there's been another murder. You're going to want to see this."

She paused for a moment, and as Lassiter watched her entire face dropped in color, her eyes widening. _"What?"_

"What?" Lassiter demanded, causing Turnbow to turn and look at both detectives in concern. "What's wrong?"

"We'll be right there," Juliet promised, and she snapped the phone shut. Taking a shaky breath, she looked at both men with a seriousness that Lassiter had rarely ever seen on her.

"We gotta go."

~.~.~.~.

Shawn slipped his phone back in his pocket and huffed a frustrated breath. "There's been another murder," he told the others, who looked at him with concern.

"This guy moves _fast," _Maya said, surprise coloring her voice. "Did you tell them about the pictures?"

"Yeah," Shawn said. "They're on their way here."

"Who was murdered?" Gus wanted to know.

Shawn shrugged. "Jules didn't say."

Maya turned toward_s _him and crossed her arms, making her look superior and bossy and altogether _hot. _"Shawn, who took the first dozen pictures? You said you knew."

"Yeah, well…" Shawn cast a guilty glance towards Gus, whose brow was furrowed in concern and confusion. "Gus, don't freak out."

"What can get freakier than this?" Gus snapped.

"My dad in a tutu," Shawn deadpanned. "And I wouldn't put him past that, either, because he has some _weird _quirks —"

"Shawn." Gus fixed him with a pointed look. "You're stalling."

Shawn sighed. "Okay, she's been stalking me for about six months now."

Maya and Gus did the natural thing and blinked at him. "I'm sorry?" Gus said, incredulously.

"Her name's Kelsey," Shawn said, shrugging. "She's, what? Late twenties, I think? Anyways, she's obsessed with me, thinks we're going to get married in Hawaii and have six kids, all that jazz. I noticed her about six months ago, before —" he faltered a second, "– before Yin."

Gus' face turned a variety of colors, from pale to red to green to purple. "Gus, you're a rainbow," Shawn commented. "Chill out."

"Chill out?" Gus exploded. "You've had a psycho stalker on your tail for _three months _and you never told anyone?"

"Well, I —"

"Dammit, Shawn!" Gus threw his hands up and walked in a tight circle. "I — I can't — What the hell am I going to do with you!" Muttering under his breath he stalked out of the room.

Maya stared at Shawn. "I think he has a point," she said, sounding unsure for some reason. "This girl can be dangerous. Do you have a last name?"

Shawn shook his head. "Sadly not," he said silently. "I would've dated her, too, if she weren't so psycho. Besides, the spirits told me she's harmless, so she's harmless. Probably."

"Does _this _look harmless?" Maya swept her arm back to give Shawn a good look at his picture shrine. "Shawn, she has the behavior that if she can't have you, nobody can. Do you understand how much danger that puts you and your peers in? My partner—" She choked on the words, trembling from head to toe as she attempted to pull herself together.

Shawn looked at her in concern. "Maya?"

She pursed her lips. "I had a partner once in the same situation," she said shortly. "Now he's dead. We need to find Kelsey." Without another word she turned back towards the wall, pointedly ignoring Shawn, who didn't miss her sniffles despite her tries to hide them.

With nothing else to do, Shawn took one last look at the wall and left the room, feeling like he'd said something wrong.

~.~.~.~.

_He'd lost track of the day it was now. Sleep played tag with him again and again but he never fully caught it. Every time he managed to slip his eyes closed his dreams were plagued with nightmares of needles and the Arabic man, or the water he was forced into every day as his captors' way of bathing, of his home and family and what would happen if they found them. He'd close his eyes and his wife's face would flash before his eyes and then he'd jerk awake again, certain she'd been stabbed and mutilated and sliced to tiny bits. He was blubbering like a baby and he didn't care anymore if they saw him. _

_He was still strapped to the table. They never let him off, except to dunk him into the bucket of water after the torture of every day. The man spoke to him, sometimes in Arabic, sometimes in English. His words blurred together. He couldn't make sense of them. To him they were just noise._

_One day they took him off the table and shuffled him through the hallway. It wasn't anything like he'd heard it was. Instead of being dark and cold and stone-lined like an Alcatraz-based prison tunnel, it was warm, with saturated, thick air and a run-down hallway that looked like it had once belonged to a hotel, instead of a hostage camp. They passed various prisoners, but none of whom he knew or had ever met. Chilled to the bone he was led into a room, where they wrapped rope around his ankles and then, shockingly, hauled him up by his feet so he was hanging upside-down._

_Immediately the blood rushed to his head and shot pins and needles through his body, stabbing painfully into every nerve of his hands, feet, head, chest, arms, and legs. The scabs from the slice wounds on his torso ripped open, and he could feel the warm blood trickling thickly down, traveling across his chest and then to his neck to drip off his chin. He gagged from repulsion and the man laughed, leaning close to his face to sneer at him._

_"Don't you see now?" he said in heavily accented English. "I control you. I control if you live or die. It is all in my hands, American. How's that for a change? I might as well be Death himself. You hear that? _Anaweem, _you are pitiful. I have your life in my hands."_

_The men left and he hung there, numb._

_~.~.~.~._

Gus was more miffed than angry that Shawn hadn't told him he had a stalker. He'd learned to get used to his best friend's actions a long time ago, and it figured that he wouldn't tell anyone if he had a _female _who took _pictures _of him every spare minute of her free time. Ever since Abigail Shawn had been cavalier about whom he dated. His one-night stands got more and more frequent, although he tried to hide them from Gus. He never could fully lie to his friend.

Shawn sauntered into what Gus called their "lobby" in the Psych office, hands in his pockets, and waited with him for the police to come. The silence stretched on between them so long Gus could barely stand it, but he was too annoyed with Shawn at the moment to be the first to break it. Shawn was an impatient person. He hated silence even more than Gus did.

Sure enough, Shawn shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "So. Weird day, huh?"

Gus' eyes rolled. "Road trip in the morning, body and jerk chicken at noon, and a stalker in the evening. Yeah, Shawn. It's been weird."

Shawn opened his mouth to say something else but at that moment Juliet, Lassiter, and Agent Turnbow pulled up to the office. Juliet was the first one in.

"Where is it?" she demanded.

Shawn smirked. "You're cute when you're worried about me."

"You're impossible," she muttered, rolling her eyes, and turned to Gus. "Gus, where's this famous wall of pictures?"

"In here!" Maya called. Shawn and Gus traded glances and followed the rest of law enforcement officers through the doorway.

"Son of a bitch," Lassiter gasped when he saw the pictures.

"Creepy," Turnbow commented. "It's like it's a warning, a giant, _"I'm onto you," _sort of thing."

"That's what I said," Maya responded. "But why would Death want to warn him of anything? And how did he know Shawn was doing the case?"

"Hold up," Gus interrupted, "I thought we agreed that it _wasn't _Death who was taking the pictures."

"Not the first couple dozen," Maya explained. "But, like I said, these were taken by two different people. One is Shawn's stalker, Kelsey—"

"You have a stalker?" was the first thing out of Juliet's mouth.

Lassiter beat her to it. "Kelsey?" he echoed, frowning. "This wouldn't be a Kelsey Aberdeen, would it?"

Shawn cast him an uneasy glance. "I don't know her last name. Why?"

He took out some of the crime scene pictures and handed them to the psychic. "Is this her?"

He was quiet for a moment. "That's definitely her," he said finally. "Was she the body you found?"

Lassiter nodded. "She was found in an ally outside a popular jerk chicken restaurant." He gave the two a pointed look to let that sink in.

"That settles it, then," Maya said. "Death hunted her down, killed her, and took her pictures, and then he took some of his own from today."

"Actually, Rodriguez," Turnbow said, "we're pretty sure there're two killers."

_"What?"_

"Kelsey Aberdeen was killed from a crime of passion," he elaborated. "Anna Coones was more methodical and precise. We're pretty sure there are two different murderers at work, playing off of each other."

Maya studied the wall again. "Maybe we shouldn't consider this a warning, then," she said thoughtfully. "At least, not a warning to Shawn. If there are two different murderers and they're having a little competition, then maybe they're fighting over _him."_

Shawn made a face. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"No, seriously, hear me out." Maya pointed towards the pictures. "How else would they know Shawn was on this case? If one of the killers had always been after Shawn, and the other one, this newer one, who I'm assuming is Death, was targeting him, too, then they'd want to settle their territory, and someone is saying that Shawn is theirs."

"Awkward," Gus commented, nudging Shawn with his elbow. Shawn didn't answer. He was frozen in a position Gus had only seen him use twice: once was when he learned he'd just missed catching Yang when she was in the Psych office, and the other was when he got the call that Juliet had been kidnapped by Yin.

Turnbow seemed to be following Maya's train of thought and turned to Shawn and Gus. "Do you guys know of any serial killers who have a serious grudge against Shawn?"

Gus finally understood what Shawn's expression meant as his best friend met his eyes. They said it together.

"Yin."


	4. Chapter 4

***cowers* Please don't kill me? I come bearing gifts! A twist in the plot! An extra (two) characters! Come on, you guys like plot twists, right?**

Death waited calmly. Sadly his Other had taken over for the time being, but that could change easily. Funny what Yin had done with the pictures, taking them and pasting them all over the psychic's wall. A nice touch, one worthy of a master. Death marveled in Yin's style; flashy and terrifying at the same time. Amazing what a scrapbook design could do.

He longed to rest for a while but he was too busy spying on the psychic. His detective and agent friends have arrived, and the look on his face was _priceless. _Death wasn't even getting warmed up yet, and already he had the psychic's nerves riled beyond comparison. This was probably his best work, without a doubt.

As the psychic discussed his next move with his friends, Death sat back, plans forming in his mind. How much could the psychic take before Death killed him? Or even better; what if Death took him for a host? The perfect cover! A suave, half-assed skirt-around-the-rules do-gooder! Nobody would ever suspect him.

Sadly, however, he couldn't choose his Others. They flocked to him like moths to a flame, a dangerous attraction that made him more deadly than any animal, more predatory than any human. Sometimes they knew he was inside of him and he was forced to move again. This body may've been trustworthy-looking, and completely unaware of his presence, but he didn't have the freedom that a psychic did.

Death wondered if being psychic would give him even more advantages while he was out and about doing his job. But then, what would happen if the psychic figured out he was there? What if he did something, like contact a priest or someone to drive him out?

Of course, it took more than a priest or preacher to force him to move. He was Death, after all, not just some demon. In fact, he'd never even met a demon before. They probably didn't exist.

Without warning, Death's vision from his Other began to fade. He scowled, mentally crossing his arms. His Other was an odd one, sometimes able to block him from monitoring his actions from the inside until Death was able to catch up again. This had happened last time, right after he'd gotten the camera from Kelsey Aberdeen. He'd taken control again, but somehow his Other had managed to travel all the way across town to land in an unfamiliar hotel room.

It was exhausting.

Death decided that, as soon as he killed the psychic, he was switching hosts.

_Yin._

Juliet's breath caught in her throat. Memories came flooding back violently, hitting her again and again. Shawn immediately caught her eyes and reached a hand out to steady her as she rocked back on her heels.

"Jules?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine," she assured him, taking in a deep breath.

"Yin," Maya repeated, looking baffled. "The partner serial killer to Yang, _that _Yin?"

"The FBI knows him?" Lassiter whirled on her, pointing a finger in her face. "They know about what he did?"

Turnbow placed a protective hand on Maya's shoulder and pulled her back a bit, glaring at the Detective. "We have a file on him and Yang," he said. "I've never been assigned to his case, however, and Agent Rodriguez only joined a few months ago, _after _the Yin incident with Detective O'Hara."

"But you did know about it," Shawn jumped in.

Turnbow hesitated. "I read the file, yes. It's part of my job; I'm a profiler. But it was never my case. It was—" His face darkened suddenly.

Shawn saw the expression change and his hand flew to his temple. "Oh, I'm sensing a rival. You _wanted _the Yin case, and someone else got it. Who?"

"It's nobody—"

"No, it isn't," Maya interrupted. She leveled a glare at her partner, who flushed and averted his gaze. Turning to regard Shawn, she said, "We were finishing up a case a few cities over with Jake's nemesis, Mark Hartford."

"He's not my nemesis," Turnbow started to say, but another glare from Maya cut him off.

"He was an undercover agent," Shawn continued, fingers still pressed to his temple in a psychic pose. "He helped take down a violent cult that sacrificed young girls, am I right?"

"Yes, exactly right," Maya said, beaming at him. "We were sent in to identify the ringleader through our profiles, but when the arrest went down, Agent Hartford got the glory while we were immediately sent here to help out with this Horseman case."

"Is it possible that Yin _is _the Horseman?" Gus wanted to know.

Maya and Turnbow glanced at each other, and then together said, "Not likely." Turnbow continued with, "Yin is in control, a lot more experienced with killing people. Plus, the pictures seem to be claiming Shawn, like a custody battle, so it's more likely that there really are two different killers, assuming that Yin killed one of them."

Juliet was already shaking her head by the end of the sentence. "Yin leaves his mark," she said darkly. "He would've shown us it was him."

"I think he did," Shawn said. He pointed toward the wall. "All the pictures that were taken at night are on the right side."

"And all the pictures taken during the day are on the left," Gus finished, peering at the wall in awe. "Plus, there's a little circle of light ones in the dark side, and dark ones in the light side. It's a giant, wall-sized yin-yang."

"That would've taken a hell of a lot of time to do," Lassiter growled. "Spencer, do you think you could…" He paused, scowling, and gestured towards the younger man's head.

"Go on, Lassie," Shawn said, grinning in spite the situation, "you can say it. Two syllables. Di-vine."

"You know what I mean," the older man snapped. "See if you can pick up which picture is the most recent and what time it was taken. We'll need a timeline, and maybe we can figure out how they got this up so fast."

"On it, Lassifrass," Shawn said, turning back toward the wall. He'd already noticed the picture, but remembering exactly what time it was and where would take another thirty seconds or so. He spotted it, Maya heading to her car and Gus and him heading towards theirs so they could show her where the smoothie place was. That had been at about three o' clock. They'd chatted for two hours and then headed to the Psych office to show Maya around.

"There," he said, pointing at the picture. "This was almost four hours ago."

"Four hours?" Maya frowned. "But there's evidence that Death killed Kelsey Aberdeen. Yin couldn't have taken the pictures unless Death had given the camera to him at exactly that time, which isn't possible because it was Death's sign on Aberdeen's forehead. They both would've had to have been there."

"Which is highly unlikely for competitive serial killers," Turnbow added. "There're too many loose ends. If it was Death who killed Aberdeen and took the pictures afterwards, why did he give the pictures to Yin, and how?"

"Or if it was Yin who killed Aberdeen," Maya continued, "why would he put Death's sign on her forehead?"

"So where does that leave us?" Juliet interrupted. "Shawn's been 'claimed', or whatever, by Yin, right? So what does that mean? Was this a warning for Death, or a warning for us?"

"Death is going to retaliate, more likely than not," Turnbow said. "And if this is what Yin had in mind of doing, Death will go all out." He looked at Shawn, dead serious. "From now on, you need to be in protective custody."

"Hold up," Shawn protested, but Lassiter was already nodding.

"Turnbow's right, Spencer," he said emphatically. "Death's going to come after you just to prove that he can. This can turn up to be an all-out war between serial killers, and you're right smack in the middle of it. You need a guard on you at all times."

"Guys—" Shawn started to say, but then a new voice interrupted.

"I call the psychic!"

A man stepped into the room, grinning. He was tall, with curly, sandy blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and an easy smile that quickly turned into an amused smirk as Turnbow groaned behind Shawn. The man stepped right up to the pseudo psychic and grabbed his hand, pumping it up and down rapidly, nearly shaking Shawn's arm off.

"The name's Agent Hartford," he said eagerly. "Never met a psychic before. Pleased to make your acquaintance. "

"What are you doing here?" Turnbow growled, stepping up to Hartford.

Hartford flashed him a grin. "Director Gordon sent me over to help out. Yin was _my _case, after all."

"One you _failed," _Turnbow said slowly through gritted teeth. "I told Gordon that Maya and I could handle this."

"Do I get an opinion in this?" Shawn demanded, exasperated. "Look, FBI dudes, I know how to take care of myself. And neither Yin nor Yang has ever gone for me _specifically, _right?"

"We don't _know _that, Spencer," Lassiter scowled. "And as much as I hate it, our number one priority is your safety."

"Aw, you _care, _Lassie!"

"I care about my job, Spencer, not you."

"Lassiter's right, Shawn," Juliet said quietly. "We just want you to be safe."

Shawn opened his mouth to argue, and then a tinkling ring echoed throughout the room. Shawn sighed as he checked the caller i.d. "It's my dad," he told everyone. "Continue discussing my freedom without me, since you seemed to be doing so well before."

He stormed out of the room, leaving behind a stunned Gus and Juliet. "He's not usually like this," Juliet told the agents after the awkward pause.

"It's understandable," Maya said.

Hartford shrugged. "I've seen what Yin does to his victims."

Lassiter, Juliet, and Gus stiffened at the same time, glaring at him. Gus responded first, pulling himself to his full height. "Shawn is _not _a victim," he said firmly. After a beat of silence he left, headed out the door where Shawn had disappeared a minute earlier.

"Mark," Turnbow sighed. "This is my case—"

"And I'll let you take point," Hartford promised, fixing him with a steady stare. "The Director just wants an extra eyes. Just in case."

The way Turnbow held Hartford's gaze sent shivers down Juliet's spine. She could hear the double meaning behind his words, the promise that Hartford wasn't just watching out for Shawn, but for Turnbow and Rodriguez as well.

_He was warm._

_For the first time, he actually felt warm. It was disorienting, after so long of being bare-chested, coated in cold sweat, damp from the blood and his frequent 'baths' that he could actually be warm, hot even. Starting in his chest the warmth worked its way up to his shoulders and face, to his fingers and toes and leaving them tingling, stinging, almost, as the blood rushed into them._

_Gently he pried his eyes open. He was still lying on the table. He always seemed to be lying on the table. More warmth touched his face like the flittering of fingers from a desert-blown wind, pressure on his eyelids and slipping them closed again. His lips parted, the question on his lips, but a quiet voice shushed him instead._

_"Sleep, now, American," the voice whispered, in very lightly accented English. A hand ran through his grimy, blood-clotted hair. The woman—girl, whoever—traced his cheek with her finger gently, lovingly. "No need to worry now. Just sleep."_

_He complied gratefully. With her gentle voice in his ear he floated, away from the man who was Death himself, away from the table and the noose where his feet were bound and he was hung upside-down, away from the smell of blood that intruded his sinuses; _his blood.

_For a second, he allowed himself to believe he was safe at last._

Jacob Turnbow was _really _sick of Mark Hartford.

He had ten years on the kid, and he'd been in the FBI for almost that long, too. Just because Hartford had come in half-cocked ready to blow a drug bust to smithereens and managed to take in the largest shipment of heroin and cocaine than anyone in the Bureau didn't mean he was ready to overlook Jake's investigations.

Hell, he'd closed fourteen cases since he came back from Afghanistan. That kid had been dishonorably discharged after the fiasco the Navy would never live down, while Jake had gotten a Purple Heart. And Director Heil was assigning the _kid _to keep an eye on him?

It made him burn up inside. And Maya—Maya didn't deserve the constant supervision. On slip-up; and Jake had already torn her a new one for the mistake, anyways. He was pretty sure she was beating herself up about it as it was. She didn't need the jerk eyeing her like she was going to get someone killed again. Hartford was almost younger than Maya herself. He'd only been in the Bureau for a year, and a third of that time was spent undercover. _One frickin' slip-up._

He sighed as he walked towards his car. Maya had decided to stay with the two detectives and Hartford to make peace, or whatever the sweet girl did. Jake smiled fondly, thinking of her. She was so full of spirit, it made him feel old. Almost forty—damn, he was getting too old for this crap. Maybe he should retire.

Immediately he dismissed the thought. After Helen, he didn't think he could ever stop moving, ever stop catching the bad guys and bringing them to justice.

Jake's heart ached. Helen's face flashed in front of his eyes and he sat back in the seat, weary. How could he even think about retiring when her killer was still out there? Hell, he could still remember, ten years later, holding her in his arms as she bled out. Helen, his gorgeous, beautiful wife, had been murdered in their own house.

His grief was unmatchable. Not even four years in the Army had washed away the pain, although Lord knew the years were a complete fiasco that only added to the grief. At least he had Hartford to blame for that. Kid shouldn't even have been cleared for combat, let alone that high priority rescue mission.

Sighing, he reached into his pocket for the pills. Honestly, he probably didn't need them; what trauma could he take back from the disaster in Afghanistan? It was more exasperating than traumatizing, and he honestly didn't remember most of it. Still, doctor's orders. Every soldier got them, no matter how hard of a time they had in war.

His pocket was empty. Frowning, Jake looked in the other one, and then his slacks' pockets, before three quick raps on his window brought him back. Hartford stood outside, smirking. Jake's eyes rolled and he sighed, rolling the window down.

"You forgot these," Hartford said mischievously, handing him the orange bottle with the white cap.

Jake scowled at him, reaching up to grab the pills from his hand. This was the second time he'd forgotten his pills someplace and Hartford had to retrieve them. He was pretty sure the younger agent was stealing them, just to get on his nerves.

Hartford leaned away for a second, locking eyes with Jake. "Look," he said firmly, "this wasn't my idea, alright? Three heads are better than two, or at least, that's what Director Heil said. I just spent three and a half months undercover in a cult, and all I want is to go back to Virginia and sleep the year away. But I can't. I'm here, so let's at least make the most of it." He made sure he had Jake's attention before giving him a crooked smile. "Truce?"

Jake softened, just a little bit. It was true, though; Hartford had been away from home for an extended period of time, and he didn't deserve being sent to watch Jake and Maya just because the Director was concerned that something like the last case would happen again. And Hartford, as cocky and foolish as he was, was only twenty-eight. He was still a kid.

"Truce," he said, watching a triumphant smirk pass over Hartford's face as the younger man handed his pills over. With a quick wave he disappeared back into the Psych office.

Unscrewing the cap, Jake downed a pill dry and started the car.

He'd head back to the hotel and dig up his files on Yin, and then call in and have a chat with Director Heil. Something told him there was way more going on than just a routine check-up.

"Dad, you can't do that!" Shawn protested, arms uncrossing.

"The hell I can't," Henry snapped, scrubbing the dish like it was Shawn's face and he was wringing it. "I told you I was pulling you off the case at the first sign of danger, and I think this counts."

"He _is _under protective custody, Mr. Spencer," Gus pointed out.

Henry snorted. "By whom? The FBI? Need I remind you the last time we tangled with the FBI? Shawn was almost killed, Gus. Or, is it the SBPD! _Yin _got to _Juliet, _Shawn. He got to _Abigail, _and Abigail had a cop already on her. Hell, O'Harra _is _a cop, and he got to her. What makes you think he won't get to you, too?"

"How is taking me off the case going to protect me?" Shawn countered. "I don't know if you noticed, but serial killers don't pack up their stuff when their targets get _grounded." _He threw his hands up in the air mockingly. "Oh, looks like Shawn's dad is sending him to his room, guess we better go home now!"

"Shawn-"

"Dad, if I'm not out there catching this guy, more people are going to die," Shawn yelled, frustrated. "I _have _to do this!"

Henry felt like he was talking to a brick wall. "But Shawn-"

"You can't control me anymore. I don't care if you are my boss; I can quit just as easily as you hired me."

"Dammit, Shawn, I can't lose you!"

The declaration left the three in stunned silence, Henry's brow pushed together with the worry only a father could have. Shawn looked upset, really upset this time like how normal people usually look instead of his stony silence. Taking a breath, Shawn wiped his face, looking tired. Damn, the kid wasn't looking like such a kid anymore. When had he grown up so fast?

"Look, Dad," Shawn said carefully, "pulling me off isn't going to help any. It'll just make it easier for someone to catch up with me, whether it's Death or Yin or whoever. You trained me yourself, so it'll probably be quicker if I stay on the case and catch Death, and if I'm lucky, maybe catch Yin, too. I'll be fine; we've got FBI agents looking after me and the entire SBPD with eyes glued to the back of my head. You don't have to worry, okay?"

For a long time, Henry didn't say anything. His heart soared with both pride and fear, although he couldn't tell exactly which one was the more dominate feeling. Gus, wisely, decided to stay out of the argument like he always had. Shawn stared at him apprehensively, as if afraid of the answer.

Finally, Henry sighed. "Alright." The two's elated sighs of relief were ruined by his mischievous, "But you're telling your mother."

Shawn groaned.

Yang sat alone in her cell. The TV was on; gosh, she had a TV! Her doctor said she was a good girl and that's why they let her have one, which was nice. Nobody ever came and visited just to talk except for her doctor and the bingo lady from across the street and Yang tired of the pointless banter between her and her doctor and the bingo lady went _on _and _on _about her games. Quite frankly, Yang was pretty sure the bingo lady was even crazier than she was.

The news was on the TV screen, and a certain name caught Yang's attention. A smile formed on her lips even before she recognized the picture on the screen.

"Shawn Spencer," she said aloud, savoring the name on her lips. He had such an elegant name. She wondered if he knew that, or if he took it for granted? Yang never really had a name; or maybe she did and didn't remember. Yang couldn't remember a lot of things these days.

The news anchor was fake, like all of them were, but the story was interesting. A new development in a case? A serial killer who named himself Death? The possible involvement of Yin?

Now _that _caught her attention. Yin wouldn't come out so soon, not after only four months of laying low! Oh, her silly Yin; if he really was coming out and going for Shawn again it must've been for a good reason. Yin never did anything without a reason; in fact, he only went after Shawn Spencer because she insisted. That was probably why Shawn was still alive, too, because Yang insisted.

Insisted… resisted, sisted, sisted, sisted. Yang giggled. Funny word, insisted.

Wonderful! If Yin really _had _come out of hiding, then that surely meant Shawn would be back to talk to her! Yang clapped her hands, drawing a few looks from the guards outside her cell.

"Shawnee's coming back," she told them, but they paid her no attention. Nobody paid her any attention, except for her doctor and the bingo lady. Although the bingo lady probably wasn't paying attention to her at all. Maybe she talked incessantly to all crazy killers.

Yang smiled to herself about that one. _Killers. _Gosh, what a secret! What a doozy of a secret to keep! Quietly she zipped her lips to no one but herself, promising to keep it.

Oh, and Shawn paid her attention. She bet he'd read her book. He was probably on his way here _right now. _

Yang hummed to herself and started to braid her hair. "Shawnee's coming to see me, oh, Shawnee's coming to see me…"


End file.
